The Lord of Time and Space
by WinterFrost15
Summary: The Fifth and Eleventh Doctors, along with some of their other selves, are stranded on a mysterious island after the TARDIS mysteriously crashes. They must fight to survive the dangers this island has in store for them. . .but nothing will be able to save them from the danger that lives within themselves.


**Chapter One **

**Stranded**

_~This was inspired by William Golding's novel _Lord of the Flies. _Many aspects of this story will be similar to the situations in Golding's, with some added twists. Also, this is AU, for both universes concerned. Hopefully my vision of this is not too horrible, and hopefully you'll like what you read~_

The man with floppy brown hair and ragged bow-tie carefully lowered himself down from the crumbling pile of rocks, and placed his feet firmly upon the waiting sand below. There was a lagoon ahead of him, just a few feet away, lapping against the shore of the island in greedy anticipation. While the sight was beautiful, he also felt a sense of foreboding about the waters, as if they heralded some dark, long-forgotten secret. The banshee-like screech of a bird overheard quickly dispelled these thoughts, however, and the man found himself looking up at the sky, searching for the bird and waiting for its haunting call to come again.

When it did not, the man lowered his gaze, and tried to shake the mud and dust from his clothing. It was a fruitless effort, he knew, but at least it provided his mind with some much-needed stimulation. As he shook halfheartedly at his shirt and trousers, he studied himself for a moment, trying to gauge exactly what sort of state he was in. His trousers were ripped, stained with blood in some places where creepers had clawed deeply against his legs and knees. His dress shirt and purple waistcoat were less befouled than his trousers, but nonetheless he could pick out smudges of dirt and blood within the fabric. His long, graceful, purple coat had been less fortunate; awhile ago he'd had to use it to ward off a wild pig, and he'd decided to leave it behind for the deranged animal, purely from fear of getting one of limbs torn off while trying to retrieve it.

"Hello! You there!" a voice suddenly cried, disrupting the man's train of thought. "Would you mind lending me a hand?"

The floppy-haired man turned to see a boyish face poke out from behind a tangle of undergrowth. He had neat blonde hair that spilled to one side against his forehead, and blue eyes that sparkled with life and wisdom. "I seem to have gotten myself a bit stuck, as you can see," the blonde said, an almost embarrassed expression pinching his features.

The floppy-haired man went over to the blonde and held out his hand. The blonde took it gratefully, and with a combined effort of them both he was able to wiggle himself free of the foliage. "Thank you," the blonde said. A warm smile spread over his lips, a smile that swiftly faded as he looked out across the expanse of the shore and lagoon. "Where are the others, do you think?" he asked, turning back to the floppy-haired man. "Trapped in the TARDIS?"

The floppy-haired man shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he replied in a hoarse voice, and his eyes grew dark. "I saw some of them when we crashed. I saw them. . ." Here he paused, and shuddered. "Thrown out. Saw metal, cables. . .flying everywhere. Like a shipwreck in space. They could be anywhere by now."

The blonde's breathing seemed a little heavier than before. "Do you think that some of them. . .didn't make it?" he asked in a near whisper.

The floppy-haired man shook his head again and sighed. "I don't know," he said. "But. . .they _must _have, or else we wouldn't be here."

The blonde nodded coolly. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

The two of them were silent for a moment, listening to the waves as they rolled over the sand. A warm breeze stirred against the treetops, rocking them faintly at first, then gaining more momentum as it rushed over the jungle flora and dipped into the small basin of the shoreline. Soon the men were blasted with heat, but neither really seemed to mind it as they became lost within their own thoughts and anxieties.

"You wouldn't happen to have any idea where the TARDIS _is_, by any chance?" the blonde eventually asked, hands in trouser pockets. Unlike the floppy-haired man, the blonde's clothes seemed untouched by the elements, save for the occasional rip or smudge here and there. His hair was relatively clean and orderly; the wind a moment before had seen to ruffling his cut a little, but it still looked nice. _Normal_.

"No, I can't say I do," the floppy-haired man answered. "But. . ." He trailed off, however, as he noticed a strange gap in the seemingly impenetrable jungle wall. He started toward it, filled with curiosity and dread. When he was close enough, he realized that a long, ugly scar had been carved through the island landscape. There were burn marks and craters dotting the outline of rugged earth, as well, and looking through the cave-like abyss, he saw that the scar stretched onward for several miles.

The blonde was soon by his side. "Rassilon's beard," he breathed. "What is it? What happened here?"

"It's the impact trail," the floppy-haired man replied numbly. He began massaging his aching head with one hand. "Indicating where, and _how,_ the TARDIS landed."

The blonde gazed at him with alarm. "Surely you don't mean that. . ." He trailed off, looking at the scar in horror.

The floppy-haired man simply closed his eyes. "We have to find out how many of us are left," he murmured. "We'll have to walk along this scar. Come on." He started forward, when a sudden cry from the blonde behind him made him stop.

"Look at this!" he said, darting forward with his hands outstretched. Nestled in his palms was a slender, pen-like device, cast from what looked like aged, cracking steel. Set within the peak of the strange object was a dull blue gem that reflected the light of the sun in a ghost's image. It took a moment for the floppy-haired man to realize exactly what it was he was looking at, and when his brain finally clicked into place, a wide grin sprung upon his pale features. "The sonic screwdriver!" he cried triumphantly, snatching it from the blonde's grasp and turning it over like an expectant child. "My tenth incarnation's model by the look of it, too. This will definitely come in handy against what's out there."

The blonde's face fell. A hint of uncertainty and fear touched his eyes, his lips quivering. "And. . .and what do you suppose we _will _find out there?" he wondered aloud, staring out across the abyss with its pockmarked path of destruction.

The floppy-haired man did not sense his fellow's unease of spirit. His focus was solely upon the screwdriver with its hidden wonders, its half-formed haze of hopes and possibilities. And at this moment, nothing else mattered except to unlock these secrets, and banish the murk which so possessed the untamed wilderness of the mortal mind.

"Maybe we can call them all here," the floppy-haired man said, tapping the screwdriver incessantly against his palm as he began to pace, trying to extract reason from the blankness of his thoughts. "With this, the sonic. We can choose a spot where the signal will most likely be heard from all points on the island, and then. . .and then. . ." Here his stream of consciousness suddenly came to a halt. His feverish footsteps died away, and he stood uncertain, fearful, and frustrated. "And then what?" he blurted out.

The blonde, who had turned to gaze at him with puzzled eyes, suddenly lit up. "I saw something while I was making my way over here to the shore," he said. "I hardly gave it a glance before, but I think it may help us in our search for the others. Come on." And with that, the blonde headed back to the spot in the foliage where he had first appeared. Curious but full of unnamed dread, the floppy-haired man could do nothing but follow him.


End file.
